Nomads of Gor by John Norman Page A

lane, lifting
    his hand, and the two riders, with their prize, reined in their
    mounts.
    I was dumbfounded.
     
    The girl stood gasping for breath, her body shaking and
    quivering, her knees slightly bent. She would have fallen
    except for the lance that kept her in place. She pulled weakly
    at the thongs that bound her wrists. Her eyes seemed glazed.
    She scarcely could look about her. Her clothing was stained
    with dust and her hair hung loose and tangled. Her body was
    covered with a sparkling sheen of sweat. Her shoes had been
    removed and had been fastened about her neck. Her feet
    were bleeding. The shreds of yellow nylon stockings hung
    about her angles. Her brief dress was torn by being dragged
    through brush.
    Kamchak, too, seemed surprised at the sight of the girl,
    for never had he seen one 80 peculiarly attired. He assumed,
    of course, from the brevity of her skirt, that she was slave. He
    was perhaps puzzled by the absence of a metal collar about
    her throat. There was, however, literally sewn about her
    neck, a thick, high leather collar.
    Kamchak went to her and took her head in his hands. She
    lifted her head and seeing the wild, fearsome scarred face
    that stared into hers, she suddenly screamed hysterically, and
    tried to jerk and tear herself away, but the lance held her in
    place. She kept shaking her head and whimpering. It was
    clear she could not believe her eyes, that she understood
    nothing, that she did not comprehend her surroundings, that
    she thought herself mad.
    I noted that she had dark hair and dark eyes, brown.
    The thought crossed my mind that this might lower her
      price somewhat.
      She wore a simple yellow shift, with narrow orange stripes,
      of what must once have been crisp oxford cloth. It had long
        sleeves, with cuffs, and a button down collar, not unlike a
      man's shirt.
      It was now, of course, torn and soiled.
      Yet she was not an unpleasing wench to look on, slim,
      well-ankled, lithe. On the Gorean block she would bring a
      good price.
      She gave a little cry as Kamchak jerked the shoes from
                                                about her neck.    I
      He threw them to me.
      They were orange, of finely tooled leather, with a buckle.
      They had heels, a bit more than an inch high. There was also
      lettering in the shoe, but the script and words would have
      been unfamiliar to Goreans. It was English.
      The girl was trying to speak. "My name is Elizabeth
      Cardwell," she said. "I'm an American citizen. My home is in
      New York City."
      Kamchak looked in puzzlement at the riders, and they at
      him. In Gorean, one of the riders said, "She is a barbarian.
      She cannot speak Gorean."
      My role, as I conceived it, was to remain silent.
      "You are all mad!" screamed the girl, pulling at the straps
      that bound her, struggling in the bonds. "Mad!"
      The Tuchuks and the others looked at one another, puz-
      zled.
      I did not speak.
      I was thunderstruck that a girl, apparently of Earth, who
      spoke English, should be brought to the Tuchuks at this
      time at the time that I was among them, hoping to discover
      and return to Priest-Kings what I supposed to be a golden
      spheroid, the egg, the last hope of their race. Had the girl
      been brought to this world by Priest-Kings? Was she the
      recent victim of one of the Voyages of Acquisition? But I
      understood them to have been curtailed in the recent subter-
      ranean War of Priest-Kings. Had they been resumed? Surely
      this girl had not been long on Gor, perhaps no more than
      hours. But if the Voyages of Acquisition had been resumed,
      why had they been resumed? Or was it actually the case that
      she had been brought to Gor by Priest-Kings? Were there
      perhaps others somehow others? Was this woman sent to
      the Tuchuks at this time perhaps released to wander on the
    plains inevitably to be picked up by